Page 84 of Ruthless Rustanovs
NIKOLAI didn’t attend church. Had never thought much about whether he believed in the God his mother had paid homage to most Sundays, depending on whether Sergei was in residence or not.
But having his wife finally come to him felt like nothing less than a prayer answered. To feel her on top of him, her hips grinding on his boxers as their tongues tangled… he came back from their hour of sorrowful tales instantly. Hard as stone and wanting—no needing—very much to be inside of her.
He flipped her over and his hands went to work, dealing with anything that got in his way. The t-shirt blocking his access to her round breasts got shoved up and the band of her bikini briefs got shoved down as he took one breast in his mouth and laid one hand over her core.
His. She had given herself to him. Come to him willingly, and the desire to both possess and revel in her sent his mind into a tangle of conflicting needs.
He decided to satisfy both, moving down her body and taking her with his mouth. Her taste exploded across the flat side of his tongue as he licked her slit, lapping and lapping, until she was squirming beneath him.
“Oh, God, that feels so good. Please don’t stop!” He could feel her hands in his hair, urging his mouth deeper into her wet pussy. “Don’t stop… don’t stop… don’t…”
He did stop. Abruptly. Ignoring her cry of protest, he braced himself on his arms, hovering over her as he asked, “Did you just now have nightmare, zhena?”
She squinted up at him in the dark. “What? No!” she answered, her voice foggy with confusion.
“Did I…?” he asked. “Did I just now have nightmare?”
“No,” she answered carefully, sitting up on her forearms and looking at him with a perplexed expression. “I don’t think so.”
“You had no nightmare and I had no nightmare?” he asked her. “You must be sure before we continue.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, understanding dawning in her voice. “I finally gave in and now you’re rubbing it in.”
“Not rubbing in,” he answered. “You—how do you Americans say—hurt my feelings.”
She laughed, a light sound in the dark room.
And he waited for her to realize he wasn’t joking.
Eventually she did. “You’re serious?” she asked, squirming to sit up some more, as if this conversation made her uncomfortable and she wanted to get in a less vulnerable position.
“Yes, very serious,” he answered, leaning into her, not too hard but firmly enough that she fell back off her forearms. After that, it was easy to get her back beneath him. And keep her there with a well-placed thigh. “No more rubbing in of anything. Not until you tell me you want this. Want me.”
He laid the ultimatum down between them like a stick of dynamite. Potentially explosive in ways both good and bad.
She licked her lips and tried to sidestep it.
“You know I do,” she said, tilting her hips toward him. “You can feel how much I do.”
As a tactic, it was a very good one, Nikolai thought.
Feeling how wet she was through the thin cloth barrier of his briefs, his cock punched out to get to her.
But he didn’t give in. Instead he worked to keep the strain out of his voice as he told her quite seriously, “This is what you must say: ‘Yes, I want you, muzehnek.’ Give me words, zhena. Give me words or we won’t continue. ”
He could sense her studying him in the dark, imagined her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out if he was serious about not continuing if she didn’t tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.
He was and she must have read the answer in his still body because she tilted up again, pressing her slit against his erection as she said. “Yes.”
She was a clever minx, he thought. Hedging in such a way that made it that much more difficult to insist on her total acquiescence. But she was his wife, and now that he finally had her in his bed, he would allow no more misunderstandings between them. No more room for misinterpretations.
“’Yes, I want you, muzehnek’—give me full sentence.”
She let her head fall back with a frustrated huff. “I’m not even sure I can pronounce that last word.”
He pressed himself into her, letting her feel his fullness against her naked, wet core. “I believe you can, zhena.”
She moaned. “Fine—yes, I want you, muzehnek.”
She said the words in a rush, but her pronunciation was near perfect and he found himself smiling as he asked her, “How?”
“What?”
“How do you want me, zhena? My mouth, my fingers, my…?” He rocked against her again and gave her a slang Russian term for penis, more than certain she wouldn’t need a translation.
She sounded skeptical when she answered, “You’d seriously be okay if I said your mouth or your fingers at this point? Like if I got mine and didn’t let you get yours afterwards?”
“If you don’t want me other way, I will be… disappointed, zhena, but it doesn’t change question.”
She wiggled underneath him as if she was actually giving his question some careful consideration, and for a moment he wondered if he hadn’t misplayed his hand.
His wife was compassionate, one of the most compassionate women he’d ever known.
Nonetheless, she could be a she-devil, especially when it came to him.
But eventually she said into the narrow strip of dark between them. “I want you.” Her voice was slightly above a whisper. “No more games, please. I really, truly want you right now. However you want me, I want you.”
Of all the things she could have said. Of all the ways she could have begged, this was the one that made him lose his iron grip on the situation.
His briefs came off and then he was inside her, penetrating her so deep, he could feel her stretched wide around every inch of him.
Feel her and hear her soft mewls in his ears as he took her without any further debate. Took her hard, took her fast, his hips pumping wildly as she received him with greedy undulations.
Neither of them lasted long after it started. His zhena came with a sharp gasp, her nails biting into his ass, pulling him further into her as she spasmed around him. Then he felt himself spilling into her with a great yell, his ejaculation more powerful than any he’d ever experienced before.
So powerful, he couldn’t find words as it flowed over him. Actually he did find words, one word, over and over again, “Zhena… zhena… zhena,” until he was fully done, until he had nothing left to give and collapsed beside her.
But even then, he didn’t stop saying the word. In fact, he was fairly sure he was still saying it as he pulled her into his now sweaty embrace and fell into a deep sleep with his wife in his arms.
With his wife in his bed.
Sam had no idea what time it was when she woke up, but she knew it had to be way past her usual 6:30 AM morning stretch and get out of bed time, because the sun was shining brightly through the hotel room’s picture window.
Also because there was a huge Russian in bed with her, the top of his thick thigh pressed against the back of hers, his chin resting on top of her head, his arm heavy across her waist. It immediately became obvious why she’d overslept and what had happened. Again.
And as Sam took in the view beyond the window, an impossibly blue sky overlooking a deep azure ocean with the outline of islands off in the distance, she waited for the usual doubt and self-recrimination to set in. But it didn’t.
In fact, there was only one question in her mind now, asking itself loud and clear. What the hell does zhena mean? And she carefully attempted to extract herself from the bed so she could go find the answer.
As soon as she moved, the heavy arm on top of her went into lockdown mode, pulling her back to her husband’s hard chest like an industrial magnet.
“Where are you going?” he asked behind her.
So apparently Nikolai was awake. She felt him swell against the curve of her back.
Very awake.
“Funny, you should ask,” she said, squirming.
“Are you uncomfortable, zhena?” he asked, low and husky behind her.
“You’re sort of poking into my back,” she said, moving the lower half of her body forward a little.
He readjusted himself to make her more comfortable. At least she thought that was what he was doing. When they resettled, the new “more comfortable” position had his hard length resting against the bottom of her soft womanhood, the tip in just the right position to…
“Did you have nightmare, zhena?” he asked quickly.
“No,” she answered just as quickly. Then she gasped when he pushed into her with embarrassing ease, because she was still wet from what he’d done to her the night before and, okay, maybe because she was more than a little turned on.
“I did not have nightmare either,” he informed her as he began stroking into her from behind with slow, languorous rolls. “But you are very wet, zhena. Maybe you had other kind of dream?”
“Pregnancy hormones,” she gasped out breathlessly. “I think it’s the pregnancy hormones.”
He chuckled against the back of her neck. “You should have woken me sooner. Ask for my help with pregnancy hormones,” he said. He increased the speed of his strokes then. But only a little. Only enough to make her even more aware of the urgent need he was building like a fire inside her.
Her head fell forward, her chin resting on her chest as he filled her up from behind. Oh God, he was so big, stretching her to near impossible lengths. Yet it didn’t feel uncomfortable to her. In fact, it felt like he belonged there.
She moaned, both wonderstruck and terrified by the aching hole he’d created inside her. The one that could only be filled by him.
Yet he still asked, “Do you want this, zhena? Do you want me?”
“Yes,” she half-cried, half-moaned. And this time he didn’t have to instruct her any further for her to say, “Yes, I want you, muzehnek.”